


Calamity Jane

by Maeve_of_Winter



Series: Songs About Jane [1]
Category: The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1501874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane Morgan may not be the best person around, but to be fair, she's not exactly having the best year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calamity Jane

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set during The Mystery of the Velvet Gown.
> 
> I welcome constructive criticism on all of my works. If you want to leave a comment, that's perfectly fine, but if you'd prefer to send a message, my email is goldphoenixrising@yahoo.com.

Middle school is when Jane Morgan first starts wearing makeup (though back then, she's still Jane Sammael). Her cousin lets her have a Forever 21 eyeshadow palette that consists mainly of nudes and pastels. Jane is thrilled: once she sports shimmer on her eyelids, there can be no question of her sophistication and style, even if she is only in the seventh grade.

She continues wearing makeup throughout middle school into high school-- not very much, and nothing too dramatic. Her skin cleansing routine prevents most blemishes, thankfully, so she doesn't require foundation or cover stick. A touch of pigment on the eyes, a stroke of mascara, a coat of tinted lip balm (or on her worst days, light lipstick), and maybe a swipe of blush. It's just as well that she doesn't use all that much; with her fair coloring, Jane doubts she could pull off the long lashes, dark red lips, or smoky eyes that fashion models typically flaunt when they strut down the catwalk.

Yet as the stress piles on in her freshman year of high school, Jane finds herself resorting to cosmetics more and more frequently. Not just wearing the products, either-- buying a bottle of nail polish or tube of mascara suddenly gives her a rush of relief, as though it might help her solve her generous supply of problems.

Her body starts betraying her soon after classes resume in the fall of her freshman year. Spontaneous spells of dizziness and nausea plague her throughout the day, at first only occasionally, but then with rising frequency as winter approaches. She has difficulty succumbing to sleep, and she never feels rested come morning. Sometimes she awakens during the night due to her stomach seizing, and becomes violently ill. As a result, her grades and performance on the swim team both suffer. Vet school looks farther away than ever, just a dream she won't ever be able to reach.

To make matters worse, there's no one she can really talk to about her rapidly multiplying problems. Her parents, the all-powerful disciplinarians, are clueless and eternally unhelpful, per usual, and currently locked into a bitter divorce battle. Her older brother Bill, who Jane has always thought of as her best friend, has gone from being her rock to a moody stranger. Even her beloved Uncle David barely has time for her anymore.

Jane stops by Crimper's Department Store on her way home from school one day in early December. She could take the bus, but she prefers to walk, trying to give herself time to appreciate the day nature has provided her. Besides, if she walks, she's usually not the first one home, and even if that enormous old house is hell when her parents are there, it's a mausoleum when they're not.

Once in the store, she makes a beeline for the beauty section without consciously considering her destination. For a few minutes, she browses, looking over the newest eye shadow palettes, examining the various primers. She can hear the conversations of nearby shoppers as she scans the shelves.

"Well, hi, Brooke, how have you been?"

"Oh, Natasha! I almost didn't recognize you with your hair cut like that. I'm fine, how are your kids?"

"Oh, Sophie won another tennis match, did I tell you? She is this close to setting a new school record--"

Jane decides on the lipstick section, and selects a gleaming gold tube from the slot on the shelf. Holding the lipstick color swatch against the underside of her forearm, she critically studies the contrast between her skin and the numerous shades.

"--and yesterday I ran into Karoline Raleigh-- you know, Lila Raleigh's daughter-- at the mall. And you'll never guess where she was coming from-- Victoria's Secret. What kind of mother lets her seventeen-year-old daughter shop at Victoria's Secret?"

As she dawdles over the assortment of lip products, Jane idly wishes she lived in a town where the gossip was more interesting than lingerie choice of an almost adult young woman. Preparing for checkout, Jane picks two lipsticks: a frosty pink, and another that is a fairly basic nude, but with fantastic casing.

“--have you heard that Troy and Elissa Sammael are getting a divorce?"

Jane freezes.

"Dear __God__ , no." The other woman-- Brooke?-- sounds appalled. "Why?"

"Apparently, Elissa is tired of feeling like a single parent. A bit late, after almost two decades." Natasha's voice drops to a stage whisper. "And also, she might be feeling somewhat . . . __neglected__ when it comes to Troy's affections. Seems he has a wandering eye."

Brooke tsked. "But what about their children? They have a boy and girl, don't they?"

"They do." Natasha's tone is disapproving. "The younger one-- a girl, I think her name is Jean, or Jill, or something like that-- is on the swim team with Sophie. They don’t know each other all that well, and I can’t help but be grateful. I don’t want my children exposed to that sort of turmoil.”

"Elissa and Troy aren't exactly setting a good example,” Brooke agreed. “As though getting a divorce will solve their problems. It won't surprise me when the two children grow up to have marriages that fail as well."

There's further conversation, but Jane misses it in the heat of her anger. Disgust and loathing boil inside of her.

Just what do these two Stepford Wives expect her mother to do? Sit around and be the doting wife and homemaker as Jane's father goes on business trips and takes his female coworkers to bed? Would they rather have her mother trapped in a loveless marriage, condemned to live out a charade, than take a stand for herself?

"What jackasses," Jane mutters to herself. Gritting her teeth, she returns to browsing lip care products, trying to give all of her focus to selecting colors and nothing else.

She has loved lipstick ever since she had first tried it in eighth grade. L'Oréal is her favorite drugstore brand, but Pixi and Rimmel are tied for a close second. Not many girls her age appreciate it, preferring cherry chapstick or slick lip gloss, but Jane adores the rich colors, fancy packaging, and the smooth silk of the bullet gliding across her lips.

But now, as she selects five colors at once for purchase, mostly in shades she knows she'll never use, it feels different. Like a compulsion, like she's buying for comfort. Like she's buying a temporary run of adrenaline and blessed normalcy along with the lipstick.

The thought disconcerts her, and Jane tries to push it to the back of her mind, but it's always there, lingering.

The gossip she overhears in the store serves a prelude to the hearsay buzzing through the student body. Whispers and rumors about the dissolve of her parents' marriage have flooded the school now; in a church-going small town like Sleepyside, it was only a matter of time. Jane braves through the sudden silences as she passes by, the refusal to meet her gaze, and the comments, some catty, others more passive-aggressive.

She traipses to her locker before homeroom in the morning, halting at her locker to unfasten the combination lock. Per usual, it sticks, and she's left to yank, jiggle, and cajole the lock into opening. During her routine of fiddling with her locker, Jane thinks she can feel dozens of eyes watching her, fingers pointing at her. She has overheard enough conversations in the library and the bathrooms to know that some students' parents have warned them not to associate with her.

Jane turns to check, to convince herself that this is only paranoia.

But her gaze lands on two other girls standing nearby a doorway. They’re paused like a deer in the headlights, with mouths frozen in the midst of forming words; they hadn't foreseen Jane's discovery of them. As Jane glares at them, a muscle in her jaw twitching, they offer smiles that are half-sheepish and half-snide, and then melt away into the flow of students moving to homeroom.

Self-consciousness courses through Jane as she returns to wrestling with her locker, her face burning. How many other people are watching her, smirking? Was that her name she just heard whispered? Jane wishes she could sink through the floor.

Finally, her locker shudders open, and Jane hurries to exchange her books. A sharp peal of laughter makes her jump, and she almost drops her English textbook on her foot. She whirls to pinpoint the source of the noise, her muscles tensing, ready to greet any animosity.

Oh.

It's just Trixie Belden.

Turning back to her locker, Jane rolls her eyes. Why does her locker have to be directly across from the girl with no indoor voice? And who always has her entire circle of friends gathered around her every morning, to boot?

Swallowing, Jane glances around at the students passing by. No one stops to speak to her, but she thinks she can detect coolness and disapproval in the eyes of several of her classmates when they catch her gaze. Trying to steel herself for another day, Jane exhales from the very bottom of her lungs.

Even if she hadn't accidentally heard her parents derided as horrible role models bereft basic morals, she would have caught on when her friends began to drift away, and acquaintances suddenly no longer wanted to speak to her. Patti has now dropped her, too, but flaky as Patti is, that's not much of a surprise.

Jane stands in the hallway, alone, listening to Trixe and her friends' meaningless chatter and vacuous laughter ring through the hall. Their talk is happy, but to Jane it only seems hollow- then again, Trixie and her friends mostly seemed to exist in a realm of daydreams, sunshine, and unicorns, where everything was sweetness and light. They never seem to have real problems.

Other than a spike of annoyance at Trixie and the Sunshine Gang, Jane doesn't feel much of anything at that moment. Not hostility for the students skirting around her with judgment clear in their gazes, not anger at her parents for stranding her in this situation, not outrage at her so-called friends for leaving her alone when she truly needed them, not despair that her life in general is falling apart.

More and more often, a deluge of bleakness abruptly washes over Jane, a feeling that her life is utterly empty and forever will be. She isn't sure what engenders this sudden sensation of desolation, of hopelessness. It's like a pool of gray ocean in which she is submerged; all is distorted underneath the water, her senses dulled, her existence isolated, her lungs struggling to breathe. She is not any more protected here than she would be on the surface, but a blanket of distance, of nothingness, has settled over her.

She looking at her life before her, a journey filled with hundreds more days, and all she can feel is apathy. And the path, the road Jane is supposed to follow, only leads to a vast wasteland.

Perhaps that’s the reason she can never shed any tears about her circumstances: to cope with the tumult in her life, she has evolved into a sociopath to whom nothing has any sentiment or significance.

God, she wishes. Then all of this wouldn't hurt quite so much.

A bitter laugh rasps from her throat, attracting more than a few perplexed glances from bypassing students. With a defeated sigh, Jane grabs the materials she requires for the morning and trudges off to homeroom. Weariness sinks into her bones as Jane thinks about the day before her, running through a mental list of her classes and assignments. But anything academic fleets from her mind as she spots a colorful poster, and for the first time in a long time, excitement surges through her.

The ninth grade class play.

Of course.

For years, drama has been an interest of hers, and now she has a chance to prove everyone just what Jane Morgan is made of. To show Sleepyside that she is her own person, not a reflection of her parents, not a disease that risks infecting her peers.

Jane throws herself into practice, devoting every spare moment outside of schoolwork and swim practice to memorizing her lines, reading about Shakespeare's motivations for writing _Romeo and Juliet_ , viewing previous performances of the play, and analyzing the different interpretations of the characters. This is an opportunity for Jane to distinguish herself, to retake everything she has lost by winning the lead role of Juliet-- and she is going to try to succeed with every  _ _iota__ of her being.

She practices to such an extent that she sacrifices her volunteer work for a few weeks. Usually, during the weekends, she takes Pepper, her enormous but gentle Caucasian Ovcharka, to the nursing home to visit with the elderly inhabitants. They love Pepper, with his soft fur, large brown eyes, and patient demeanor, and many of them like to visit with Jane as well, to have someone to break up the monotony of their schedule.

Guilt washes over Jane whenever when she thinks of how she is neglecting them, but she __has__ to win this part. She __needs__ to play Juliet. Just to have __something__ positive in her life right now.

She loses the part.

While Jane is embittered and disappointed by the loss alone, insult is added to injury by the identity of the victor.

Diana Lynch, the most beautiful girl in the freshman class, the girl who went from rags to riches, one of the members of Trixie Belden's exclusive, snobby club.

Jane could reconcile with losing to Ruthie Kettner, who brought surprising presence and confidence to the stage, or Amy Morrisey, who didn't just recite her lines, but imbued every one with passion and energy.

Diana Lynch could barely stammer a single line coherently, let alone speak with emotion or zeal.

However, just before Christmas break, Diana's parents donated a significant amount of funds for the freshman play.

Jane doesn't believe in coincidences, and she doesn't have to be a detective like that preening, self-enchanted Belden girl to see the connection. Life is unfair-- that particular pearl of wisdom is no recent discovery to Jane.

But Diana Lynch already has everything-- wealth, a gorgeous home, personal clique, stunning beauty, great clothes, a talent for art, and most important of all, a loving family who aren't fractured by divorce.

Now she has the role of Juliet, too.

And it's obvious that Diana Lynch had only been handed the part for two of those attributes: her money and her looks. Acting had nothing to do with it; a shame, really, because the recent events in her daily life have twisted Jane into the best actress she knows.

The morning after the play parts are announced, Jane prepares for school as usual, with her modified makeup routine. The months of stress and uncertainty haven taken their toll, and Jane's face is a clear example.

Strategic utilization and application of cosmetics hide that, though. With all of the flaws Jane wishes would disappear, the past few weeks have shaped her into a regular makeup magician, and each day, she goes through the routine mechanically.

Lavender primer to brighten her skin. Illuminating foundation to cover her face's sickly pallor. Concealer for the bruise-like dark circles beneath her eyes. A dusting of translucent powder to keep the creams from sliding. Amber-shaded base, then various soft gold and dusky brown shadows on her eyelids. The palest color goes on the innermost corner of her eyes, followed by a quick dab of sparkling, champagne-colored pigments. The darkest color goes on the outermost corner, and the most shimmery tone is placed on the center of her eyelid, all to make her eyes look less tired.

Following that come two coats of mascara with two different types-- one to define her lashes, the other to add volume, for the purpose of widening her eyes. Berry-rose blush to add warmth to her face. Lipliner to cover her entire lips, a coat of lip balm to soothe the roughness, and then a lipstick that matches her blush, applied with a lip brush for extra precision. A minute swipe of petroleum jelly on her front teeth to prevent her lipstick from straying and staining.

And then she is done: a picture-perfect image, completed by her own two hands. Recent events may be practically destroying her, but there’s no reason to give other people the satisfaction of knowing that. Sudden social pariah or not, Jane is going to show everyone that she can still be the It Girl on the outside. No, she has to convince them that she __still__ is the It Girl, __period__.

She reaches to return her makeup brushes to her cosmetics kit, and the light catches on her fingernails, the lacquer gleaming. Last night, she painted her nails in an elaborate design, in hopes of distracting from her ashen features. Two coats of a pearl pink base, the second to disguise any imperfections in the first, with a large white snowflake in the center, each one intricate and unique. Jane added tiny rhinestones here and there, followed by a translucent top coat.

Initially, she was proud of her painted nails that she spent hours designing, but now as Jane looks at them, she wonders if they are hideous and tacky. Maybe the rhinestones were overkill.

She grimaces.

Still, at least people will be looking at something besides her haggard face, right? If Jane can look chic and poised on the outside, it shouldn't-- it  _ _doesn't--__ matter what she feels on the inside.

She stares into the mirror, and a sudden image floods her mind: the glass reflecting her face cracks and cascades to the floor, shattering on the hard oak, leaving only a pile jagged fragments.

No. __No.__ Jane __cannot__ let herself fall. She will __not__ let others have the satisfaction of watching her downward spiral.

Her thoughts are interrupted when she hears Bill yell at her to hurry up. She grabs her floral Jansport backpack, smooths her waistcoat vest and silk blouse, and hurriedly runs the lint roller across the bottom of her flounced skirt. She checks herself in the mirror one last time before she leaves.

And that's when Jane sees it: all of that time in front of the mirror was a waste, because her carefully constructed façade is already streaking, marred by the tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.


End file.
